by Casey Winter
“Thanks,” Luke says, laying his axe aside.
“Is it a special occasion?” I tease, walking over to him. I kiss his bare face, odd now without the tickling beard. Not that I’m complaining. “I can’t remember the last time kissing you didn’t give me a rash, frogman.”
“Ha-ha,” he mutters, digging me playfully in the ribs. “And it is a special occasion, actually.”
“What?” I ask, as we hold each other. I love leaning back in his arms as he supports me. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
I wonder if he could possibly know, if he found the test, maybe.
I wasn’t exactly careful about disposing of it.
I put it right on top of the trash in the kitchen waste basket. I guess part of me hoped he’d see it and then I wouldn’t have to break the news.
We’re careful, normally. He’s Mr. Prepared, after all. But there are also those times when our passion is just too hot, too fiery, and we can’t take it anymore, when even thinking about stopping what we’re doing to get a condom is laughable. Hence the test … well, tests, since all four have told me the same thing.
“Luke?” I prompt, when he grows suddenly serious.
Everything looks eerie in the Chevy’s light, the ice and snow glistening yellow. It’s like we’re in some sort of dream world. “I got you a gift,” he says.
“Okay …”
“It’s inside,” he mutters.
I lean closer to him. We kiss, his lips warm despite the cold. “You do know you’re acting really weird right now, don’t you?”
He grins tightly. “Just humor me, eh?”
“Okay, frogman, consider yourself well and truly humored.”
We take our cocoas inside and I sit at the kitchen table. I think Luke is going to do the same, but he lays his mug down, brushes his hand on his jeans, and then goes into the next room. I hear him rustling around. He returns with a big wrapped gift.
“Luke,” I squeal. “What the heck is this? Your birthday is next month and you buy me a gift?”
He places it on the table. “Open it,” he smiles.
“Seriously. Weirdo level: a thousand.”
“I know,” he says. “But open it, Hannah.”
I imagine that I’ll open it and he’ll have put the pregnancy test inside, he’ll tell me that he knows and that he’s happy, that of course it’s not going to ruin what we’ve been building here. But as I tear away the paper, I see that it’s a new set of skates: the exact set I was gushing over last week, sitting up in our bed with my laptop open.
“Woah.” I giggle, taking one of the skates from the box, holding it up to the light. “This is fricking glorious. No joke. Carbon fiber. Look at the straps. You see the frame? That’s pretty much the most responsive they have. And the liner. Ah. Look how high the laces go. My feet are going to be locked in. Thanks so much, Luke.”
I jump up and hug him. He grins tightly. “You’re welcome,” he says. “But I think there might be more in the box.”
I turn back to the table, look down …
And there it is.
A glittering, elegant diamond ring, the band shimmering silver.
When I turn back, Luke’s on one knee, looking up at me with his glinting greens full of emotion.
“Hannah Josefina Coleman-Ortiz,” Luke says solemnly, “when I came back to Little Fall, I was a broken, angry man. I never thought I would fall in love, much less find somebody who could love me. I never thought I’d get over all the pain tying me to the past. I definitely never thought it’d be you, Hannah, who broke down all my barriers and showed me how to be a person again. But you did, because you’re amazing. In every way, you’re amazing. Smart and funny and talented and beautiful and kind and courageous, you’re the best partner a man could ask for.
“So I’m asking for you, Hannah, I’m asking you to make me the happiest man alive and be my wife.”
My mouth tumbles open, cartoon-style. “Oh, God,” I whisper, standing up and taking a stunned step back. “Luke, I—”
Panic enters his face. It touches my soul, how worried he looks, as if he thinks I’m going to say no.
“What is it?” he asks. “I’ve got your mom and dad’s blessing, if that’s what you’re worried about. I called Frank up and he wished us the best. Teresa was even more supportive.”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, that’s great.”
“Then what?” he whispers, voice cracking a little, anger and sadness mixing for a brief moment. “Is it because I used your middle name, eh? I happen to like Josefina.”
“No, Luke. It’s—you don’t know what you’re asking. I need to tell you something.”
He stands up, putting his hands on my shoulders and leaning close. Our noses touch, tickling, and suddenly we’re staring right into each other. “Tell me,” he whispers.
“I’m pregnant, Luke,” I say quickly, before I lose my nerve.
For a second, we just freeze, both of us unsure of what to say.
I wait for him to back away, to let out a trembling breath, to tell me this is unexpected and he needs time to think about it. But then he says, “I know, Hannah. I was just waiting for you to tell me. You couldn’t’ve left that test in a more obvious place. Did you really think that was gonna change how I felt? The way I see it, now I’ve got an even better deal: a wife and a kid.”
“Deal?” I giggle. “Is that what we are to you now, huh?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “And I like the sound of that we.”
He backs away, going to one knee again.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
“What does it look like?” he growls, smirking. “I’m doing this properly, that’s what.”
He reaches behind me and grabs the ring.
“Hannah Josefina Coleman-Ortiz, will you marry me? Will you be my wife and the mother of my child?”
“Yes,” I yell, throwing myself at him.
He catches me, both of us laughing. Somewhere in the tangled closeness, we end up kissing, our passion taking over.
“Wait a second,” Luke chuckles, grabbing my left hand. “Let’s see how that diamond looks on you.”
He slides it on. I hold it up, gleaming. “So, what do you think, frogman?”
“Perfect,” he growls, kissing me again. “I think you’re perfect, twinkle toes.”
As we embrace—holding onto each other so tightly even a fricking meteor couldn’t separate us—I know I’ll never have to stand alone again.
***
THE END
Enjoyed your time in Little Fall with Luke and Hannah? Then you’ll not want to miss the next book, which stars Penny Snow and Morgan Gunnarsson. An edge-of-your-seat romance with lots of thrills and even more steam, Never Her Protector is not to be missed. PS. You also get to check in with Hannah and Luke and see how amazingly their relationship is doing!
Author’s Note
Well, that was quite the adventure, wasn’t it!
I would just like to take this opportunity to thank you so much for reading my book. Delving into the world of Little Fall and Luke and Hannah really was a treat for me. These characters have lived in my mind for so long that to have them on the page – real, tangible, fricking awesome! – was just amazing. And to think that there are readers out there (eh-hem, you) who have found some escapism and enjoyment in the story isn’t the cherry on the cake … it’s the whole darn cake.
I plan on releasing many more books in the Little Fall series, the next featuring Morgan and Penny, which is one hell of an interesting couple, in my humble opinion.
If you liked this story, could you please leave a review? They help so much, and this poor working girl ain’t above a humble beg, know what I’m saying?
Anyway, I’ll leave you to it now. I just wanted to say Thank! You!
Bye-bye.
Or, should I say, see you in Little Fall sometime … xoxo
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Did you enjoy your time in Little Fall? Return to it soon with the next sizzling adventure, starring Hannah’s best friend and adopted sister, Penny Snow, and a certain steely Norwegian alpha …
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Chapter One
Penny
A quick Google search tells me that a person can survive in a coffin for five and a half hours. That sort of surprises me, since it’s actually a pretty long time. I mean, just imagine it, being locked in hell for five long, torturous hours, trapped the proverbial six feet deep …
Okay, Penny, enough gruesome stuff.
I close Google and put my phone away. I needed to know the fact for a story I’m working on, but that’s no reason to spend the whole journey trawling through a bunch of sinister stuff online. Especially not on a bright, hopeful day like this. As I walk, I wonder what somebody would think if they could see me now, which they can’t. The quiet Maine road is empty, except for me.
If they stood at the end of the road leading to Little Fall High, and just looked at me, they’d think: Oh, there goes Penny Snow, high school English teacher, creative writing teacher, tall and pale and a little crazy-looking.
But they wouldn’t know just how crazy until they peeked inside and swirled around my thoughts. Then they’d see how terrified I am, even now. I’ve lived my whole life in this town—beautiful Little Fall, in the full bloom of late June—and yet I feel like any second some monster could leap from the shadows and ruin everything.
Doc Giger tells me it’s good that I’m able to walk to and from the school on my own. He doesn’t mention that it’d be better if I could drive, since we both know that brings up a whole host of issues around control and fear. Something bad happened to me when I was a kid, but I try not to let it rule me.
Hence the walk.
I’m a grown woman and I’m going for a walk. Yay for me. But baby steps, right?
Sometimes even I get tired of how effed up I am. At twenty seven years old, sometimes I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years. I’m old and crusty and worn-out. I am also, on this fine Maine morning, being absurdly melodramatic. I hear Hannah’s voice in my mind, chiding. “Come on, Penny, chin up.” Hannah’s my best friend and basically my sister, so even when she chastises me in my head, I tend to listen.
I get to class and prep my notes. Some of the students are transferring from my evening class. Others will be starting fresh in the summer. I keep the classes separate for that reason, so there isn’t much crossover in topics. Essentially, there will be some overlap, but I hope my presentation brings something new to the subject matter.
I jot down a few notes as I fix the pencil in my hair, a sort of ritual for me. I always use a pencil or a pen to twist my hair into a bun. I guess I like the tension at the back of my head, like the feeling of familiarity and comfort.
“It’s an identifier,” Doc told me once, adjusting his stylish hipster glasses, which were at odds with his mad-scientist wisps of grey hair. “You associate the feeling of the pencil with the identity of being a writer, a creative, an imagineer.”
“What the heck is an imagineer?” I asked.
He smiled. “I’ve no idea. The word just came out. But let us say that it’s somebody who spends the majority of their time in their imagination, so that they don’t have to—”
“Face the real world,” I finished. “Yep, sounds about right.”
—
I turn back to Google as I wait for my students. How long does it take to pass out from holding your breath?
My search throws up a crazy number of results. For a while I fall into my work, plotting a story in which one of the characters wakes up trapped in a coffin. But the man can teleport into other people’s minds by intentionally passing out … I think. I haven’t ironed out all the kinks yet.
I’m bucked from my reverie by a man clearing his throat from the doorway.
I look up. He’s tallish, though not as tall as me—not many people are, sigh—and he has flinty eyes and a nose that’s all bent out of shape. He looks rough, and yet he’s tried to overcompensate this with a cheap suit and combed white hair. For a second, I think I recognize him. There’s a look in his dark brown eyes that sends chills up and down me.
“Hello,” I say, fighting off that strange feeling. “Are you one of my new students?”
“Hello, Penny,” the man smiles, walking slowly into the room. He brushes his hand along one of the desks, as though claiming ownership. It’s weird and unsettling. He nods at a poster on the wall. “This is a lovely classroom. Is that from The Great Gatsby?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, noticing that he doesn’t have a bag or any books. “What’s your name? I can check you off on my list. I’m absurdly picky when it comes to things like that.”
“Hmm,” the man mutters. “That’s not what I’ve heard, Penny. I’ve heard you’re very disorganized.”
He walks closer, slowly, as though he enjoys taking his time. I don’t like the look in his eyes at all. It’s like he’s looking at me from the pits of hell. I know that’s OTT in the extreme. But that’s how it feels. The eyes of Satan.
“Who are you?” I mutter, slowly reaching for my handbag, hoping he doesn’t notice.
Fear grips me. I know this man. I just don’t know from where.
“Ah, Penny.” He rocks back on his heels. “I’m disappointed. But I suppose it makes sense, a woman like you, always living up here.” He taps the side of his head with a clipped, neat fingernail. “It is surprising, though. I thought you’d remember me for the rest of your life. The same way I’ve remembered you.”
Then it hits me.
My world begins to crumble.
It’s literally like the walls of the classroom are turning to ash and the floor has opened up. I feel sick. I want to run and fight and cry.
“You’re not—him.” I gasp.
“I am … him,” he grins. “Dirk Shilts, at your service, ma’am.”
Dirk Shilts.
Once upon a time, there was a girl called Penny Snow, ten years old. And Penny Snow had a little brother and a dad and a mom and they lived a pretty happy, regular life. One night, two psychopaths by the names of Dirk Shilts and Porter Kemmler decided to break into their house and torture and abuse them, resulting in the parents and the little brother dying. They said they were there to steal money, but Dad didn’t have any money in the house. So they just hurt, and kept hurting, until a neighbor heard me screaming and called the cops.
My hands are shaking as I reach into the bag and take out the pepper spray, holding it up. Even my teeth are chattering.
Dirk just keeps smiling, not even looking at the pepper spray. His mean eyes are locked on me. “You look healthy, Penny,” he comments. His voice is gravellier than I remember, deep, a drawl with an accent that’s hard to pin down. He could be from anywhere. “I’ve been so concerned about you these past years. You were such a sickly little child.”
“I’ll call the police,” I whisper, somehow keeping my voice level. “I’ll tell them there’s an escaped prisoner here. Don’t you think they’ll know it’s you if I go missing? Don’t be stupid.”
He steps back, dropping easily into one of the chairs. He rests his hand on the desk and leans back. “Penny, Penny, Penny,” he sighs. “I’ll have you know that I have served my time and I am here well within my legal rights. I am a reformed man. While in the penitentiary I had ample time to reflect on my behavior. I do believe I even found God.”
“What, are you here to apologize?” I whisper, wondering what the hell I should do.
If I run, I have to pass him by to get to the door.
If I scream, maybe somebody will hear me, or maybe he’ll get angry and leap at me.
If I spray him with the pepper, it’s the same thing. It might just piss him off.
I guess all I can do—for now—is keep him calm and wait for my first student to arrive.
“Apologize?” he laughs. “What on earth make
s you say that?”
“I’ve heard of people doing that,” I mutter. “Finding their victims to apologize.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t go that far,” he says easily. “Apologize? No.”
“I should have been told about your release.” I snap, debating picking up a chair and throwing it at him. I remember the way he grinned, eyes glinting, the sick things he did to Riley and Mom and Dad etched like bleeding wounds into my memory. “This is insane.”
“Actually, little Penny, unless you requested specifically, in writing, to be notified of my release, the State had no obligation to do so.”
“Wow, look at you,” I hiss, desperately wishing my pepper spray was a handgun. Even if I’m not sure I’d be able to pull the trigger. “The sadist became a scholar.”
He inclines his head, ignoring my sarcasm. “I’ve had a lot of time to develop my character,” he says. “A lot of time to think about what you did.”
“What I did?” I gasp.
“That’s correct.” He runs his tongue over his teeth in a strange way, and then I realize he’s shifting around chewing tobacco. Calmly, he spits right on the floor. “What you’ve done. The crime you committed.”
“Are you insane?” I hiss, getting angry as well as scared now. “You were the one who broke into my house and—Listen, just get the hell out of here, okay? What the hell do you even want?”
“Ah, what I want,” he says, standing up. He puts his arms behind his back and starts pacing up and down the room. “Now we come to the heart of the matter.”
“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
He looks at me with a reprimand in his expression, the way I might look at boisterous student. “Don’t be impertinent,” he says. “Do you like that word? Impertinent. I made it a point to learn a word in a day in the penitentiary.”
“Good for you,” I mutter hollowly. “Please go.”